Signal Fire
by bluecarousel
Summary: Reckless, detached and tortured pretty much summed up who he'd become, constantly walking that edge. She was the one thing keeping him from stepping off that cliff entirely. Revolves around Rory and a tormented Tristan.
1. Prologue

**Rory has no idea that she's the only thing that's keeping him alive. Generally, revolves around Tristan and Rory and his fascination with death.**

---

_**- Prologue -**_

Sitting at her vanity, she scrutinized the woman staring back at her, noting the pallor of her skin and the new crop of wrinkles that had formed around the contours of her mouth. Instinctively, she reached for her make-up, dabbing on a bit of powder and applying more blush on the apples of her cheeks.

Sighing, still displeased with her appearance, she moved to jewelry, fastening her favorite pearl necklace around her neck. A soft violin solo, extending lazily from an antique record player, danced in the background.

A strand of strawberry blond had come lose from the bun at her neck. Humming in time with the music, she gingerly tucked the stray curl behind her ear. She needed to look flawless for him.

With a final glance in the mirror, she moved to sit on the bed, pulling on her black pumps; they went well with the red dress she was wearing.

Then rising to her feet on the bed, heels sinking into the soft folds of the down mattress, she wound the noose hanging from the ceiling around her neck and stepped off.

---

**Just a few side notes; both Rory and Tristan are in their final year at Chilton. They grew up together and were inseparable up until high school…you'll learn why as the story progresses. You'll also learn whom the prologue speaks of and why she killed her self. **

**And on that cheery note, I leave you to the rest of the story. **

**Also, reviews are my bread and butter, so please feel free to comment. Anything to boost my ego, I guess.**


	2. Chapter One

_**- Chapter One -**_

He knew he could stop her if he wanted to. He knew he could make her leave, kick her out of his room and lock the door after her. He knew he should end it. But instead, he let her walk in and drape herself over him, kiss him and pretend to love him.

"Something on your mind," she questioned, sultry voice pulling him back to reality.

"What's it to you," he growled, eyes taking in the nearly empty bottle of scotch on his side table.

Soft smirk locked in place, she slid back up the bed, resting her head next to his ear and let out a soft breath, aiming it perfectly at his ear lobe.

"Well," she pouted, running her fingers across his neck…chest…stomach. "Doesn't a good step mother's role ask that she inquire after her step son's worries?"

She adjusted herself so that she was on her stomach now, head propped up on one elbow, looking across at his face.

"And isn't she supposed to…" she paused to straddle him, anchor her hands one on each side of his hips and descend her mouth to his chest "…make him feel better after a long…hard day…"

"Does her role also include fucking the step son when ever she gets bored of her husband?" he interrupted, a slight throbbing working its way across his temple. He could feel the alcohol working its way through his system.

"No, that's a little something extra I added," she purred, moving to her work on his stomach, tongue playing over each muscle, teeth tugging on a spot just above the abdomen.

Despite himself, a husky guttural noise escaped his lips, and surged on, she moved further down, fingers moving to the zipper of his jeans, sliding under the waistband.

Before she could continue, he'd pulled her back up so that they were face to face and taken her lips with his.

In one swift move, he rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath his body, lips hungry on hers. Arms anchored on each side of her body, he moved to her chest, mouth sucking at the valley between her breasts.

Hearing her moan, feeling her fingers tangling in his hair, her legs sliding across his own, he moved further down, hands coming down to grip the sides of her stomach while his mouth bit down on a spot just above her hip bone. This earned a second, deeper moan.

Flexing his back to change positions, he moved back up the length of her body, mouth workings its way across the contours of her side, hands sliding around her frame to pull her tight against him.

As he bit down on her shoulder, she whispered his name and softly raked her nails across his back. But he was oblivious to it now. The scotch and whatever else he had taken with it was finally doing its job. Numb to it all, he continued, the silent air pierced every few seconds by her moans.

Later, when she had finally fallen asleep, exhausted and curled up against his side, he, non-too-gently, removed her arm from across his chest and slid out of bed. Groping for his clothes in the dark, he moved about the room. Finally dressed, he moved to the side table, emptied the bottle of alcohol and grabbed his car keys.

Minutes later, he exited the mansion, found his BMW exactly where he'd parked it, and drove off.

---

**Side note:** I know it's a little confusing at this point, but bare with me. Chapter Two will clear a few things up. Hopefully.


	3. Chapter Two

_**- Chapter Two -**_

Rory, to this day, could not understand how she had managed to keep her job at Stars Hollow's one and only bookstore for almost four years. Better yet, who in their right mind would give her a job that involved books?

The world truly was coming to an end.

Playing with this crazy notion, she stopped shelving and picked out a random book. It was one of Walt Whitman's.

She knew a lot about the poet but had never actually read any of his poems. Seeing as the store was practically empty, Rory figured now was as good a time as any to start, and headed for a windowsill.

Getting comfortable, she turned to a random page and began reading.

_From all the rest I single out you, having a message for you, __You are to die-let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate,  
I am exact and merciless, but I love you-there is no escape for you._

"He was an interesting man, to say the least," called a voice.

At this sudden intrusion, Rory sprang to her feet and in her haste, dropped the book.

Without glancing at the stranger, she bent down to pick up the book. But as her hand clasped over the book, a hand belonging to the stranger, clasped around hers.

She looked up and instantly froze, recognizing the eyes staring back at her. They were the eyes that belonged to the same person who had taught her how to pump her self higher and higher on the swings.

They were the eyes that had laughed with her during a winter carnival while watching Kirk try to figure skate.

They were the eyes of a friend.

They were the eyes of a stranger.

Emotions locked away for so long struggled for release within her. But in the almost indifferent way she responded, one would have assumed that they had no prior connection at all.

"Tristan," she replied before pulling her hand free from his grasp and shelving the book.

"I can see how glad you are to see me," he smiled and responded sarcastically, hoping to lift the awkward veil.

The gesture was not returned.

"Can I help you with something," she inquired, putting aside her feelings and taking on the role her job required of her.

"Yeah, I actu…" he began but halted as she moved away from him, picking up a few books off a nearby table and heading off to put them away. Not knowing what else to do, he followed her.

"So what did you want," she asked, almost as a second thought.

"Well I…I…" he mumbled, no longer sure why he had come here. "I just came by to..."

"Trissy, what's taking so long," an impatient voice called from somewhere between the rows of bookshelves. Seconds later Summer, Tristan's girlfriend, if you could call her that, materialized at his side.

A pang of annoyance erupted at her temple as Rory's eyes fell on Summer. To say she hated Summer would have been an understatement. After all, for the most part, it was she who had torn Rory's best friend from her.

"Where's Oscar Wilde," Summer inquired, sickeningly fake smile in place, one hand tangling and untangling a curl of hair while the other wound its way into Tristan's hand.

"The last time I saw him, he was sipping a mocha latte at the Starbucks down the street," Rory retorted, her own smile in place.

A soft chuckle irrupted and both girls turned, eyes falling on Tristan.

"Funny," Summer spat back, turning once again to Rory.

"I thought so," Rory responded, before reaching up and plucking a few books from a near by shelf. Thrusting them at Summer, she smiled at the two before, more books in hand, disappearing behind a shelving unit.

Irritated, Summer shrugged off Tristan's hand and moved towards the register, impatient to leave.

Tristan looked back at where Rory had disappeared to before exiting the bookstore, and heading for his car. Summer was right behind him. After casting one last glance at the bookstore that had been one of his and Rory's favorite haunts, he gunned the engine and sped off.

---

When she walked into her house, no one was home so she decided to go straight to the bathroom and stand under the shower for the next half hour. The day's events had left her feeling tired and tense.

After her shower, enveloped in a baggy sweater and sweat pants, she climbed into her bed and delved into a book. But her mind drifting to him every few seconds, the words made no sense and in no time, she was irritated. She hated that he still got to her.

Putting the book back on the shelf, she sighed and fell backwards onto her bed. How did he still have this power over her? How could he consume her thoughts even when he was miles away?

As if in response, her gaze shifted to a picture on her bookshelf: a picture of an 8-year-old boy…a picture of Tristan. She rose from her bed and reached for the picture, taking it in both hands and examining it. Oddly enough, it was taken in the cemetery with Tristan standing in front of a statue of an angel so that the wings on the statue looked as if it belonged to him. It was crooked so that he was standing at a slant but somehow that added character to the picture.

Running a thumb across the picture, she recalled exactly when this had been taken.

---

"Stop fidgeting around Tristan," she wailed, holding the camera with both hands and peeking through the lens. "This picture has to be perfect."

Instantly, he froze, standing on one leg with both arms stretched to the left, striking his best Super Man pose.

"What are you doing?" she questioned, still peeking through the camera lens.

He wavered but managed to hold the pose.

"Doing my Super Man pose," he said matter-of-factly. "Don't you like it?"

"No."

He wavered and fell off the stump he was standing on. Instantly, she was at his side. Camera slung across her neck, she fell to her knees and examined the bruise on his arm. It was getting darker by the minute.

"Is it bad," he inquired, lip slightly trembling. He had a thing about blood.

She kissed the spot above the bruise before pulling him to his feet. "Stop being a baby," she added before pulling him along further down the winding road. It was a spring afternoon so the sun was bright and the wind was just perfect.

She, hand firmly clasped around his, ran down the length of the central square, waving a quick hello to Ms. Patty, before finally coming to a stop in front of the cemetery.

Without giving it a second thought, she dashed in, Tristan in tow.

---

"Lucy I'm home," came Lorelai's voice from the living room, pulling her away from her reminiscing.

"In here Ricky," Rory called out, putting the picture back on the shelf and moving towards the kitchen.

"You'll never guess who I ran into today," both women spoke at the same time.

"Who?" Again, they were in synch.

"Hugh Hefner," spoke up Lorelai while Rory answered "Tristan."

"Tristan?"

"Hugh Hefner?"

"Yeah, he was shopping for cereal at Dosie's." Lorelai walked around her daughter and poured herself a cup of coffee. "Lucky Charms I think."

Rory dropped down on a chair and listened, clearly amused.

"Well did you speak to him?"

"No," Lorelai sulked. "Ms. Patty was hogging him all to herself. I didn't even get to do my best _smoldering temptress_ face for him."

"Now that's a shame."

"You're telling me…wait…did you say Tristan, as in my Tristan?" Rory had Lorelai's full attention now. She plopped down on a chair beside Rory.

"Yes," Rory mused, "_your_ Tristan."

"Well, did you tell him off?"

"Mom," Rory groaned before grabbing her mother's cup of coffee and leaving for her room. Lorelai went in after her.

"Well did you?"

---

Spotting an empty table, Rory carried her lunch tray over and took a seat before pulling out a book from her backpack. With Tristan still on her mind, her morning had been plagued with questions. Pushing past it, she dove into the book, wanting to forget reality, if only for a moment. Someone slumped down heavily in the seat next to her. Rory paid no attention to them.

"Lost in a book again?" She recognized the voice but did not show any indication that she had.

"Real life's a lot more interesting than your books…"

"And how exactly would you know, seeing as the last book you were interested in was probably the latest issue of Maxim?" Her eyes remained fixated on her book.

"Hey! Maxim has had just as big an impact on literary culture as…as" he took her book from her and scanned the title. " Madame Bovary."

"Oh yes, where _would_ we be without '101 ways to score on a first date'," she countered, snatching back her book from him.

From beside her, Tristan laughed and despite herself, a smile crept to her own features.

"I can't remember the last time I saw you smile," he spoke up after a moment's pause, eyes and fingers sliding over a pair of initials that had been carved into the wooden desk.

At a loss for words, she merely stared at him.

"Or the last time we had an actual conversation. I mean I know it's my fault…"

"Don't Tristan…there's no point…"

"Tris," Summer interrupted, sauntering over and taking a seat in his lap, her back to Rory cutting her off from any further dialogue. "Jason's parents are going away for the weekend so he's throwing a party Friday night. We have to go."

Summer always reminded Rory of a Harpy in the way she sounded; tempting and seductive with malice hiding just below the surface.

He sighed, as if just hearing her voice plagued his body with exhaustion.

"Not now Summer," he ran a hand through his hair and locked eyes with her. "I don't want to talk to you right now."

If she was hurt or shocked, Summer hid it extremely well.

"But Trissy," she threw her arms around his neck and pouted up at him. "This is important. We have to go." Her voice was deep and almost lulling.

"You go if you want to, but I'm not in the mood Summer," Tristan responded, removing her hands from around his neck, sliding her off his lap and setting her back on her feet.

With that, he too rose from his seat.

"I'll look for you after school," he turned to Rory and spoke before exiting the cafeteria.

After a second's pause, in which she stood in stunned silence, Summer threw Rory a glare before also exiting the cafeteria.

Madame Bovary lay face down on the table. Her mind was no longer enthralled by it. Instead, she sat in bewildered silence. Rory wasn't sure if she had just seen what had just taken place.

Lately, she, along with the rest of the school, had been witnessing the way Tristan, with a blank expression, would simply give in to Summer's demands. It had bothered her to see her childhood friend like that, allowing indifference to rule his actions. And now it surprised her to see him adamant about something. Anything.

---

It wasn't until he had come up right beside her and had adjusted his pace to hers' that Rory realized Tristan was even near her. She pulled down her headphones around her neck and turned to him.

"So what exactly was that back in the cafeteria?"

His only response was to take her by the elbow and guide her towards the school parking lot.

"Tristan?"

"I want to show you something," he spoke up, leading her to his BMW.

"Show me what?" she questioned, jerking his hand away with more force than she had intended to.

Sighing, he turned to her and locked eyes, taking in the friend from whom he had grown so distant.

"Everything," he responded honestly, turning away and walking towards his car.

Taking a second to contemplate the word, she followed after him, sliding into the car as he held open the door.

---

She stared out the window, noting the speed at which the scenery flashed past, one blur mixing with the next. They'd been driving for almost fifteen minutes now and in that whole time, not a single word had been exchanged between the two.

What am I doing, she wondered, taking note of not only the tense atmosphere but also the yellow light he sped through.

Beside her, he fumbled with something in his pocket. Left hand steady on the steering wheel, he used the right to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

"Since when do you smoke," she finally cut through the silence, a slight irritation picking up at her temple.

With the practice of years, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it and bought it to his mouth, all with one hand. He didn't seem to have heard her.

"Tristan?" This time, her voice was stronger.

"Hmm…what…did you say something?" He turned to her and smiled. She was surprised to see the sincerity in his eyes.

"I didn't realize you smoked," she put in weakly, stuck between perplexity and anger, watching as he rolled down the window and a puff of wispy white was lost to the afternoon air.

"I don't," came his reply. "Well not really. Just when things…you know…" he trailed off, using both hands to swerve between a slow moving pick-up. The cigarette lay curled between his index and middle fingers, slowly disintegrating as he took in steady puffs.

She didn't know what to say and a second hush fell over the vehicle.

He swerved between another car and this time, the vehicle jolted to the side before returning to normal.

"You think maybe you should slow down?"

The only response came in the form of a small trail of smoke, swirling about his head before being snatched by the wind.

He cut in front of another vehicle, this time a semi and the truck driver was quick to retaliate, the heavy horn slicing through the air like a scythe.

"Slow down Tristan," Rory chimed in, arm shooting out to tug slightly at his sleeve. He was scaring her, especially that distant look in his eyes.

No response, just the car slowly picking up more speed.

"Slow down Tristan," she tried again, barely able to keep the quiver out of her voice. He was moving so fast and jerking between so many vehicles that their bodies kept banging into the sides of the car as well as against each other. But he seemed oblivious to it all, as if not even aware of her presence.

"Slow down the car or let me off Tris…" she began but trailed off as the BMW came to a screeching halt, fender just clipping the bumper of a stalled car. His arm shot out in front of her protectively just as her body lunged forward, straining against her seatbelt. With the aftermath of the momentum, her body slammed back against the leather seat, and a dull ache was quick to shoot up her spine.

Beside her, Tristan looked perfectly at ease, except for the trembling arm that still stood in front of her. Slowly, she reached out and took it in her own hands, bringing it to a rest at his side, all the while willing her racing pulse to slow down.

The squealing of tires seemed to echo on forever and was only drowned out minutes later by the honking of horns around them. Pulled back to reality, he moved his foot off the break pedal, returned both hands to the wheel, maneuvered around the stalled vehicle and drove off.

Ten minutes later, in total silence, he brought the car to a rest alongside a small dirt road overlooking the Connecticut River.

For a few seconds, the two sat in silence, simply staring out the windows as the sky around them deepened to a pale orange. Her pulse slowly returned to normal, no longer a roaring in her ears.

Angry? Afraid? Concerned? She wasn't sure what to feel.

Beside her, she could see that his hands still gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white from the strain.

"Tristan…"

"I'm so sorry Rory…" he cut her off, eyes still focused on a spot outside the window. "I…I almost…"

"Tristan, it's okay…"

"I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you," he interrupted, his voice low and husky, heavy with emotion.

Those were not the words she had been expecting.

"I didn't mean to scare you Rore…I'm so sorry" he carried on, the words coming out in a jumble. "I just get like that sometimes…and I don't know why. The rush takes over and for the moment, nothing else even crosses my mind."

"Tristan," she tried, removing her seatbelt and sliding closer. It terrified her to see him so vulnerable, so different from the Tristan that sauntered through the hallways at school.

"For a while there, I wasn't even sure I wanted to stop the car…"

At his words, realizing just how severe the situation was, she felt her whole body cringe. How could she have not seen this?

"…but then I realized you were in the car and…" feeling her hand on his, he stopped and turned to lock eyes with her.

"I'm sorry Rore," he smiled weakly. Her knees almost gave way. "I didn't want to involve you in my problems…"

"I'm sorry too Tristan." She returned the smile, and fell into his arms as they came around her.

It felt warm and comforting to be in his arms…familiar. But she needed answers. Questions flooded the pit of her stomach and slowly she pulled back, uncertainty outweighing the happiness she felt.

She needed to ask him why but before the words could fall from her lips, he had exited the car and was at her door, opening it and ushering her out.

"I need to show you something."

---

It was nothing spectacular: just a weathered old bench overlooking the Connecticut River. Two great oaks sprang up on each side of the bench and framed the scene. Several more benches set about 20 feet apart ran the length of the area. Just ahead, a medium sized rail ran across the path, acting as a barrier between the road and the small cliff that gave way to the river. Along the opposite shore, barely distinguishable, was a line of buildings: fancy boutiques, antique shops, and various small office spaces.

She was surprised by his choice of locations.

"Umm?" she questioned.

"I've probably spent more time here than at home," Tristan put in before taking a seat on the bench. Rory followed suit, waiting for an explanation. But he did not offer one.

For the next few minutes, the two sat in silence, Tristan with his chin resting on steepled fingers and Rory, taking in her surroundings, the greenery burning to oranges and reds as the sun set around them.

The silence however, was less awkward than it had been in the car, a long forgotten familiarity picking up between the two.

"Remember how we used to sneak up to the Church tower and watch the sunsets?" he spoke up several minutes later.

She nodded. "Yeah…and that one time, Taylor caught us and made us clean his entire porch…"

"…with toothbrushes," he finished, both breaking out into smiles.

"I haven't seen him in years," Tristan put in after a moment's pause and Rory caught that heartbreaking note in his voice.

"Or Ms. Patty, or Lorelai or even Kirk…"

Despite herself, Rory let out a laugh and he turned to her and examined her quizzically.

"I'm sorry, it's just that…well…Kirk's Kirk…I don't think he's changed in the last four years," she laughed, picturing Kirk's latest project: a series of instructional Yoga DVD's that he had filmed right in the town square.

"Has it really been that long?" came his unexpected response and Rory immediately sobered up.

"…Almost."

He leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands, balled into fists.

"It all seems like it happened yesterday." He starred out over the water, thinking back to the last time he had been this content.

"You never did give me an explanation you know…" several minutes later she spoke up nonchalantly, sitting back against the bench. Despite the calm that was slowly overtaking her and the seeds of hope fluttering against her heart, questions began streaming through her head. It couldn't be this simple. Could she really have her friend back just like that?

"Hmm?" he questioned. His eyes were focused on the water but she could tell by his tone that she had his attention.

"As to why you stopped talking to me." At her words, he turned to her and locked eyes. There was a mixture of joy and pain in his eyes and it sent a pang of guilt through her.

"You just sort of…changed…and when I tried to talk to you…it was like you couldn't even see me," she trailed off, pulling her legs up under her and letting her eyes wander back across the water.

When no response came from him, she continued, needing to finally get it all out.

"And after the funeral…you just walked away…and I…and I thought you just needed time to grieve alone." It was all coming out in a flood now and despite herself, Rory felt a stinging at her eyes. She was recapping years of pain and she knew that it would come with a price. "But when I saw you hanging out with Summer and those other idiots…I didn't understand…"

"Rory…" he finally broke through, moving to take her hand in his.

"You never told me why," she pulled her hand away, holding in a sob. "You never told me why."

Eyes somber with regret, he tried to pull her into him. But she refused, locking eyes with him. They were blazing with pain now, the corners wet with tears.

"I must have hurt you," Tristan put in, leaning back and giving her space. "I never meant to."

She wiped at her eyes and moved her gaze away, surprised at how easily he had affected her. It all felt so surreal, as if at any moment, she would wake from a dream and Tristan would once again be a stranger.

"Rory?" he spoke up beside her, sliding closer but leaving enough space between them so as not to set her off again.

When she offered no response, he turned to stare out over the water. Across the river, lights from street lamps and store windows were coming on.

"See that building, the one to the left of the bank…the one with the blue lighting," he pointed, catching Rory's attention.

Despite herself, she nodded, gaze drifting to where he had pointed. It looked like an office building of sorts. It was small but two stories high and looked sterile and professional.

"When ever I'm not here, at school or at home, I'm in there."

"What is it?" she questioned, curiosity outweighing anger.

"My shrink's office," he grinned, letting his head fall against the back edge of the bench so that now, his eyes strained heavenwards and he had a view of the violet sky.

"What?" she asked incredulously, clearly more affected by the words than he was.

"It was my father's idea…said I needed someone to talk to…someone _other_ than himself." The words spilled out bitterly and mechanically as if his father's actions no longer affected him.

"Tristan…"

"Twice a week every week."

"I didn't know," she put in softly, his statements once again engulfing her flames.

"My father thought it would help me adjust better after…" he trailed off, his attention caught by the sudden wind that had picked up. The sun had sunk below the horizon and taken all remaining heat with it. For a September night, it was extremely cold.

"And did it help?" she questioned meekly, bringing her arms around herself as the chill rushed through her body.

"Well it helped me avoid your furry," he laughed and slipped off his blazer, sliding it around her shoulders. "For now at least."

Again, a smile rushed to her features and she found her anger slowly abating. Even as children, he'd had that affect on her.

"It's one of the reasons," after another silence Tristan spoke up, inching closer to Rory and this time she did nothing to object.

"One of the reasons?" she questioned, unsure of his cryptic statement.

"One of the reasons why everything changed."

"How do you mean?"

But he did not answer. Instead, his attention seemed to be held by the stars that now sparkled across the sky.

"Tristan?"

"Tristan?" she tried again, this time pulling his chin down to face her.

"I'm sorry…what was I saying?" he grinned at her and she wasn't sure whether he was serious or joking.

"…Um, you said it's one of the reasons…" she trailed off, confused. She watched the expression on his face change from one of joy to pain and instinctively, her hand slipped out to entwine with his.

As if gaining strength from her touch, he continued.

"The day after the funeral, my father shipped me off to a shrink but when she complained that I wasn't cooperating, he sent me to another one." As he talked, his thumb swept in circles across her wrist, almost absentmindedly. "And then another one. Finally, I wound up here. But this one was different. He started me on this treatment and I actually started to feel better…" he trailed off, eyes drifting towards the river.

"What kind of treatment Tristan," she questioned and waited for him to respond.

"At first, he tried Prozac…but when that had no affect he tried something stronger. For a while nothing worked…until he put me on this experimental drug." He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, masking it with a soft chuckle. "Something with Lithium." His head was back resting against the edge of the bench, eyes taking in the now almost pitch black sky.

Unsure of what to say, she opted on resting her head against him, hoping he'd find comfort in the gesture. Sliding closer, he put an arm around her shoulder and brought her closer.

"I know it's no excuse but they sort of changed me…"

"So why did you take them?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper."

"Because they helped," he spoke against her hair, breathing in the sweet smell of vanilla and lilacs. "They sort of numbed everything."

Feeling her go rigid in his arms, he pulled her closer. "I know they changed me and I can never get back those four years without you but…"

"You don't have to apologize, Tristan," she breathed, slowly pulling away to lock eyes with him. "I can't even begin to imagine what you must have been going through…"

"…Still…" he smiled at her…one of those incredibly beautiful smiles and she felt her heart ache for him.

"Are you still taking them?" she asked after several seconds to which he slowly nodded.

She let several minutes pass before speaking again. She knew if she stopped now, there would be no going back.

"There were other reasons…why you drifted away." She wasn't sure whether it was a question or a matter of fact statement.

He nodded softly. "When I moved back to Hartford with my father, everything was different. He expected me to be…to be just like him. He wanted me to be a part of his world and change according to it. And…and…"

"…I didn't fit into that world," she finished, with more composure than she felt.

"Stars Hollow didn't fit into that world," he offered, hand coming up to cup the side of her face.

"I thought it would get better over time…that if I made other friends, joined a school team…stayed away long enough I could just forget my life back in Stars Hollow…but," he brought her hands to his lips and kissed it, "my life _is_ back in Stars Hollow."

It was all she could do to fall into him and stay there forever. Joy and warmth flooded through her but they couldn't completely drown out the little voice that warned of danger. She knew it would take more than one night to mend almost four years of pain.

"I know I can't ask you to just forgive me like that," sensing her thoughts, Tristan pulled her in and whispered against her ear. "But I'm hoping you'll try."

The feint, barely audible "okay" that escaped her lips, could have been a rustle of the leaves. But he seemed to have heard it, and that was enough.

They stayed that way for several more minutes, clinging to the moment, afraid to let it crumble. But as the wind picked up once more, carrying with it an autumn chill, the two rose from the bench and headed for the car, his arm across her shoulders and her head resting against the crook of his neck.

When he dropped her off, walking her to her doorstep, he placed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips, before once again taking to the road.

She watched him drive off before walking in, a kind of happiness she hadn't felt in years surging through her entire being.

---


	4. Chapter Three

_**-Chapter Three-**_

Legs pulled up underneath her, fingers clamped over a book, she sat by her locker. She had another half hour before the start of school. Lorelai had had an early meeting at the inn and Rory had decided to catch a ride with her to school, thinking she could read ahead while she waited for Chilton to come to life around her.

Several students and teachers dotted the halls but overall, the building was empty.

Lost in her book, it was only a few minutes later when she felt someone sit down next to her that she was propelled back to reality.

"Wipe that smirk off your face Gilmore, you look like you just got laid," Paris put in before pulling out several books from her bag.

"I wasn't smirking Paris," Rory defended, turning her attention back to the book and trying to keep her face as neutral as possible. She had to admit, she actually felt giddy but she didn't want that broadcast all over her face.

"Whatever. You can waste your time however you like…just don't expect me to baby-sit the little rug rats while you're working all-nighters at the 7-11 and taking classes at a community college designed around the special needs of young…"

"Paris…"

"What? Teen pregnancy in America is rising Rory, and so is the high school drop out rate."

"I didn't…get laid," Rory practically whispered, not sure whether to find Paris's words offensive or hysterical. She wondered how the two had ever become friends.

"So what? You can do it but not say it…it's called sex Rory…an act between a man and…"

"I think I know what sex is Paris. I took the same Sex Ed class you did, remember. The one where you made the visiting lecturer cry?"

"What? I merely pointed out that he didn't seem to be speaking from personal experience…"

"You asked him if he was a virgin and whether he was qualified to teach the subject?"

"You can't expect people to take sex advice from someone who looks like he still lives in his parents' basement, surrounded by his Star Trek memorabilia."

"He's some professor of reproduction Paris…not Sue Johanson…"

"…I always wondered about that one. I mean isn't she…"

"How did we end up on this topic?" Rory interrupted, leaning her head back against the locker and letting her eyes drift down the hall.

Almost as if carried there by her thoughts, Tristan, along with several of his friends, the group consisting mainly of jocks and giggling girls, came into view down the hall.

Beside her, Paris continued on but Rory was lost to her friend's words.

Had it been last week, Rory would have simply turned away, focusing her attention back on Paris or her book or anything else. But today was different.

She watched as he closed his locker and broke away from the others, heading down towards her. He drew closer and she waited for him to catch sight of her and walk over.

Ten minutes till the bell, the halls were busier now with students walking in all directions. Effortlessly, he weaved through them, gaze fixed just ahead. She rose from her sitting position, book unconsciously held tight against her body.

Five feet away, his gaze finally landed on her and she softly smiled. For an instance, as she caught the flutter in his eyes, everything else faded to the sidelines and the moment was perfect.

But a few seconds later, it crumpled away as a figure materialized at his side and laced their fingers through his: Summer.

Rory's body went rigid as his gaze slipped away from hers'. Summer leaning heavily against him, Rory remained frozen as he walked past her, as if he had looked at her and found nothing there.

"…Gilmore," Paris, who had also risen to her feet, snapped her fingers in front of Rory's face, pulling her back from the moment. Stunned, she tried to focus her attention back on Paris but her thoughts were racing a mile a minute and a sick feeling was rising from the pit of her stomach.

It was happening all over again.

Shutting her locker, she picked her bag off the floor and headed for her first period class, Paris protesting after her. Tears stung the corners of her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

---

She tried to concentrate on the blackboard but letters mixed with numbers and the colours around her all faded to a single shade: black.

She hated that he still had such an affect on her…hated that she'd let him do this to her. Again.

Taking shallow, quick breaths, something she'd learned from Ms. Patty, she tried to focus again. Her professor was saying something about quadratic functions and writing equations on the board but she couldn't make sense of them.

When the bell finally rang, indicating her lunch period, she quickly packed her things and rushed out of the room. Her head was spinning. Madeline and Paris called after her but she continued on, afraid that if she stopped moving, she would completely break down.

She weaved through the students lining the halls and walked into the cafeteria thinking to find a table in the corner and get lost in a book. Fate however had other plans for her. Entering the cafeteria, the first thing to catch her attention was a group of people occupying two tables set against the left wall of the room. In the middle of it all was Tristan, with Summer on his lap, straddling him.

Unable to turn away, Rory watched as Summer slid her fingers underneath his chin and brought his mouth to hers. She watched as his arms went across her waist and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Fresh tears threatened to spill but she pushed past it, walking out of the cafeteria and towards the bathroom.

---

Hating the fact that she would have to see him again, she entered the classroom, the last class of the day. It was already full of students but the only one that caught her attention was Tristan, his gaze fixed on her as she entered the room. Dropping her own gaze, she took her seat, thankfully several rows away from him, and moved her eyes to the board.

She felt his eyes on her the whole time but she did not turn around. Nor did she hear anything her English professor said. Wrapped in her own thoughts, her heart threatening to burst from her chest, she simply concentrated on a chalk mark at the base of the blackboard.

When the bell rang much later, she was the first one out the door.

She could have sworn he called after her but the sound, lost amidst the throngs of students now pouring out of classrooms, could have been a shuffling of feet or a whisper among friends. She took a detour, stopping at the bathroom once more to wipe at her eyes and when she finally came in view of her locker, he had beaten her to it. Languidly resting against the locker next to hers, hands pocketed, he seemed to be lost in thought. As beautiful as a Greek statue, he waited, eyes locked on a spot on the ceiling.

She contemplated simply turning away and walking out of school but her pride held her from doing so. She knew she had to deal with him sooner or later.

Bracing herself, she approached her locker, eyes downcast. She spun the combination and opening her locker, started pulling out books.

"Hey," came his voice, and she had to hold herself back from meeting his gaze.

"Is something wrong?" he tried again, and she could hear the sincerity in his voice.

"Everything's just fine thanks," she put in, slamming her door shut and moving to walk away.

His arm at her elbow halted her from moving further and she felt herself being gently spun back to face him. Still, she kept her eyes trained on the ground.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concern in his voice. She felt his fingers rubbing circles against her elbow and she pulled her arm back.

"What are you doing?" she tried, eyes rising up to meet his.

"Waiting for you…" he put in, a smile spreading to his features. God, she hated it when he smiled like that.

"And did you get Summer's permission?"

"What?"

"Well I mean, shouldn't you be waiting by _her_ locker…especially considering that just a few hours ago you had your tongue down her throat?" She watched in satisfaction as his eyes changed, a dark cloud moving across his features.

"I…was with Summer?" he asked, confused.

That had not been the response she had expected

"Tristan…I…just leave me alone, okay," she turned around and walked off, more confused than ever.

"Let me give you a ride home…" he called after her.

"No thanks," she threw back, turning the corner.

She came in sight of the bus stop just as the vehicle was pulling away.

Great, she thought, walking over to the bench and falling back against it. She knew the next bus would take at least another half hour to arrive.

Frustrated, she closed her eyes and let her head fall against the top edge of the bench. A few minutes later, the honking of a horn pulled her back from her thoughts, each one racing a mile a minute.

"We need to talk," Tristan called out as he brought his car to a halt in front of her along the side of the road.

"I don't have anything to say to you," she put in, turning away from his gaze.

"I'm sorry if I did anything to hurt you…"

"I think I've heard this speech already," she interrupted, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"I zone out sometimes Rory…and if I did anything today to…"

"I don't care Tristan…"

"Just get in the car Rore and let me explain." This time, he was the one to interrupt. She caught the pleading tone in his voice but chose to ignore it, willing the bus to appear.

From the corner of her eye, she caught that urgent look in his eyes. She could tell he was restraining from simply manhandling her into the car.

"The bus probably won't be here for another half hour," he broke through and was once again greeted with silence.

"Damn it Rory, just get in the car," he snapped.

"Gee when you put it like that…"

"I'm sorry I blanked on you like that before. It happens sometimes…and I didn't mean…"

"It doesn't matter. Just leave me alone."

"I can't do that Rore. Not when I'm so close to having you back in my life…"

"Did you ever think that _I_ don't want _you_ in my life," she interrupted, anger clouding over the friendship that had begun to slowly mend itself.

This time, it was his silence that settled around them.

Unable to stop, she continued, the words spilling out with more malice than she had thought herself capable of. "That maybe, I'm better off without you around. I mean, I've been fine without you for the last 4 years.

"You don't mean that…"

"Like hell I don't. Once the school year is done, we're going go our separate ways, and I'll never have to see you again," she spat out, pushing past the hurt.

"So you can take your explanations and apologies and get as far away from me as possible because I don't need you anymore."

For a few moments, both sat in stunned silence. Then, pulling his eyes away from her, Tristan drove off.

---

**----Side note:**This story means a lot to me and I appreciate everyone who took the time to read and review it. Since I put up the first three parts all at the same time, I didn't get the chance to include answers and my thanks. But I will from now on.-----

**austinnme7589**: Thanks, I appreciate...lol, your appreciation. Anywho, yes it was someone very close to Tristan that died. Hopefully Chapter Three clarified that it was his mother who died, although I can't reveal the specifics yet.

**mdwildcatgirl**: Thanks for the feedback. Really helps boost the ego.

**Curley-Q**: I love any and all compliments and again, as to who died, it was Tristan's mother.

**just hidden**: I know sometimes prologues and background information can clog up a story but it does really help the plot-line. So thanks for sticking through it and understanding why it's necessary.

**Sam**: I hope chapter three clarified a few things for you. The story does have a lot of twists but I promise they'll all be worth it. And I'm glad you liked the Rory-Tristan interaction. I guess I wanted him to be a bit different from who he was on the show.


	5. Chapter Four

_**- Chapter Four -**_

Resting his head against the windshield of his car, body sprawled over the hood, he gazed heavenwards, taking in the crescent moon and the dozens of stars dotted across the sky. He wondered if she was really up there, watching over him, as she had promised him upon hundreds of occasions.

He took another swig from a beer bottle that seemed permanently glued to his hand and tried to remember her face. Lately, he'd been having a hard time remembering her voice, and her face too was slowly disappearing from his memory. But he couldn't. Frustrated, he took another mouthful and then another.

He tried to call back his last memory of her but again found out that he couldn't. He tried to recall her last words to him but they seemed lodged permanently in the abyss that was his memory. Anger pulsating through his body, he bolted off the windshield and hurled the bottle at a near by tree. With a satisfying crunch, it shattered into pieces and rained down against the base of the tree, the amber liquid seeping into the parched earth.

He slid off the hood and got back into the car, every muscle tense. How could he have forgotten her like that? With a twist of his key, he sprang the car back to life and reveled in the noise for a second before speeding off. His head was threatening to explode but he pushed past it, needing to keep his mind occupied.

Merging with a major road, he swerved between cars, the speed and rush keeping at bay his guilt. Tail lights and exhaust fumes danced in a haze through his vision but the honking of horns and the roar of the cars around him kept his thoughts from straying.

He slowly accelerated his speed, though unsure of just exactly where he was going. He took turns here and there, cutting between other vehicles. His mind drifted, yet his body strived on towards an unknown destination.

Slowly, congested roads gave way to open lanes and the noise and lights of the city died down around him.

Ten minutes later, outside the welcome sign to Stars Hollow, he brought the car to a screeching halt.

---

She read the words on the page, but wrapped in her own thoughts, along the journey between her eyes and her brain, they lost all meaning. All she could think about was Tristan. Until now, she had been certain that she had moved past him; let him go.

In school, they were practically strangers and she had slowly grown accustomed to that. And at home, her mother no longer mentioned him and to that too, she had adjusted. But now, all she could think about was Tristan. Within the span of several days, he'd wound up back in her thoughts.

Frustrated, she slammed down the book and headed for her bedroom. She hoped that at least in sleep, she could find some solace.

Entering her room, Rory nearly screamed in surprise as a figure rose from a chair by the window.

"Rore, it's just me," Tristan spoke up, trying to calm her nerves. "I just…"

"What the hell is wrong with you? You scared me half to death," she interrupted, relief giving way to annoyance and anger.

He looked exhausted and on the verge of collapsing, nothing like the slick Tristan she was used to, sauntering down the halls of Chilton.

"I'm sorry Rore…I just wound up here and…I just…" he stammered, as if no longer sure of his reasons.

For a moment, remembering the countless hours they'd spent watching movies, playing games or reading books in her room, she felt a twinge of happiness at seeing him here again. It was almost like the old days when, stuck in a bad mood, he'd sneak into her room and unload everything on her.

But things are different now, a voice called from the back of her head, and once again, her defenses were up.

"You can't be here Tristan," she spoke up, emotions under tight control, but he didn't seem to have heard her.

"Tristan.."

"Rore, I just need to talk…I don't…" he interrupted, moving to take a seat on her bed.

"Tristan?" Despite herself, Rory inched closer to him, concern overshadowing anger.

"It's been a while," he sighed, surveying her room and referring to the fact that he had not been here in almost four years.

"Yeah, I know."

"My dad remarried you know?" he offered up, but did not make eye contact with her. "Two years ago."

She took a seat beside him, wondering at the way his mind skipped from one thing to the next.

"I was the best man…did you come? I'm sure you came? I think I danced with you."

"No Tristan, I wasn't there…"

"Are you sure? Anyways, she's great. We all love her. And she…and she…" His voice had gone down to a whisper now and his eyes were focused on a spot outside the window.

"Tristan…"

"And my dad's really happy too you know, happier than he was with…with…" He broke off distractedly and searched for something in his pocket. Fingers clasping the metal neck of his father's flask, he pulled it out.

As if singed, Rory jumped back, understanding dawning on her. How could she have been so stupid? His breath was laced with alcohol.

"You're drunk," she spat, anger once again flaring up inside, leaving no room for sympathy.

Catching the anger in her voice, he quickly put away the flask.

"You need to go Tristan."

"Rore I'm sorry…I've been doing it for so long that it's practically become…

"I don't care Tristan. Just go." She could see him contort his features in sorrow but she made her self immune to it, focusing instead on the flask, still protruding from the inside of his jacket.

"Just five minutes…"

"Tristan…"

"Please." It was like a needle piercing through her heart. One word from him was all it took for her defenses to crumble.

In a gesture of compliance, she once again took a seat beside him and earned a heart-breaking smile from him. She missed those smiles.

"I don't drink all the…"

"Why are you here?" she intervened, anger still seething. Her thoughts were racing and she tried to figure out why he was there in her room.

"I needed someone to talk to Rore…" He dropped his head and concentrated on the carpet.

"So why not Summer…or one of those sycophants that follow you around all day."

"You're the only person I've ever been able to talk to."

At his words, she felt her pulse quicken and there was a sudden roaring in her ears.

"You're the only one that I ever cared about." She controlled an impulse to reach out and touch him.

The roaring picked up. He was saying things that she had always hoped he'd say. But somehow, she didn't know whether she could trust him. Years of him walking by her in school without a single word could not be erased with a few choice words. She wouldn't let it.

Tristan raised his head and locked eyes with her.

"I missed you Rory." There. The four words she'd secretly longed to hear for so long…no longer seemed enough.

"Why are you doing this?" Her words were barely a whisper. The roaring had died down.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't so much as talk to me for four years and now, all of a sudden you're taking me to your favorite haunts, waiting for me at my locker, showing up at my house in the middle of the night? Why?" She was on her feet now, eyes locked on him. Her thoughts were racing and she tried to rein in her emotions.

"I just…" he tried, also rising to his feet.

"Do you have any idea how much I missed you, how much I wished that I could have my friend back…how much…how much I wished you'd talk to me, smile at me…look at me." She was nearly in hysterics now, her words no longer a silent whisper. Tears raced down her cheeks but her eyes blazed on, lit by an internal fire that had been raging for years.

"And today, when you just walked by as if…as if, I were no one, it all just came crashing back…"

"Rore"…he began, moving towards her, features contorted in sadness.

But she stepped back, avoiding his sympathy and no longer needing his explanations.

"Don't Tristan…I'm done…over it, I stopped missing you," she interrupted and watched with twisted pleasure as something shifted in his eyes, those inhumane eyes that never gave anything away.

"I stopped missing you," she continued, wanting to hurt him as badly as he had hurt her. The gates had been released and a flood was eminent. "And I stopped needing you," she wiped at her eyes, refusing to let him see her cry. "So let's just pretend that this never happened and you can go back to your life and I'll go back to mine…"

"I don't want to go back to that life," he interrupted, in a voice that was no longer his. "I won't."

Balling his fists, he began pacing back and forth, and she thought he resembled a caged animal.

He reached inside his jacket and once again pulling out the flask, took in a deep swig.

He wiped at his eyes and turned to her. "I still miss you," he put in before reaching to touch her cheek. She pushed his hand aside and watched as a shadow moved across his eyes.

"Don't Tristan…everything's changed now…" her words were lost as she felt his lips on hers, hungry and full of need. Deeper he moved, arms circling her waist and pulling her body as close to his as physically possible. His mouth was hard and soft at the same time, tugging at her bottom lip.

She could feel the electricity surging through her body yet she tried to push him off, knowing that it was the alcohol.

"Stop…stop it Tristan…" her words came out in a gasp as she broke away from him and moved to the wall for support.

But he closed the gap between them in seconds and once again, she found his lips on hers. As he moved into her, she felt her back connect painfully with the wall. But he was unaware of anything but her. One hand tight around her waist, the other anchored against the wall, he kissed her hard, lips hot on hers, unable to get enough.

Breaking from her lips, openmouthed kisses moving the length of her cheeks and jaw line, he moved to her neck, finally stopping to suck on a spot on her collarbone.

"Rory…" The word was guttural and full of wanting. "I missed you…I missed you so much." She wanted to believe him and for a blissful moment, she gave in, arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers grazing the back of his neck. But as he pressed into her, the cold metal flask, still protruding from his jacket, dug into her ribs, and the moment crumbled.

Oblivious to it all, Tristan continued kissing her, lips moving back up her shoulders and hands roaming across her sides, sliding underneath her shirt, across her petite waist and pulling her tight against his body.

"Stop it Tristan…stop…" she whispered, arms coming up to push him away. As if emerging from a dream, he pulled back but still stayed close enough to hear her every breath.

"Rory, I'm…I'm…"

"Drunk?" She put in. "High? Insane? What Tristan? What?"

"…In love with you." For a second, she felt as if her knees would buckle.

"I've known it from the day we met and it killed me not having you in my life."

"You made a conscious decision to not include me in your life," Rory, trapped between exhilaration and rage, retaliated.

"I'm sorry Rory," he pleaded, and she had to turn away in order not to give into those piercing eyes.

"I thought about you…think about you all the time…about being with you…having you, just you…"

"You don't love me," she spat out. "And I don't love you." Her words hung in the air like a gunshot.

"Rory…"

"How can you love a stranger Tristan?" Despite herself, she felt the tears sliding down her cheeks.

"But we're not strangers Rory," he retaliated, taking her by the elbows. "I know you, I know everything about you. I know that your first pet was a turtle named Mr. Darcy and that you cry every time you watch Cast Away and Wilson floats away …"

"Tristan…" she moved into him, her tears now two small rivers across her cheeks.

"I know that your favorite dessert is peanut butter straight from the jar and that you're afraid of bald people." Hearing her let out a soft chuckle, he continued.

"I know that when you were four, you had a crush on Kirk…" Rory's laughter punctured his words once again…"and that you never give up on anyone.

She was practically in his arms now, and feeling her slowly slide to the floor, he slid down with her, not willing to let her go for a second. She wanted to pull away from his touch, to make him leave. But she couldn't.

Instead, she pressed her head against the crook between his neck and shoulder, hearing his racing pulse in her ear. He pulled her into him, lips moving across her forehead, eyelids, lips.

"I don't believe this is real," Rory spoke up after a few moments of silence.

"It's real," he comforted, bringing her hand to his chest, resting it on his heart.

For a few more minutes, they sat in silence, reveling in each other's company, readjusting to one another.

But the moment shattered as Tristan's watch sounded the alarm.

"Shit." He rolled up a sleeve and realizing the time, nearly jumped to his feet. "I have to go. If I'm not home…she's going to…"

Catching the look in Rory's eyes, he willed his nerves to be silent. He pulled her in and kissed her hard before pulling away and climbing out through the same window he had entered through.

Stunned, she listened as a few seconds later he gunned the engine and sped off.

---

The bus still a few stops away from Chilton, all sorts of scenarios ran through Rory's mind. Despite what he had said last night, would they go back to ignoring each other at school yet again? And if he did talk to her, what would she say? Frustrated and more frightened that she wanted to admit, she leaned her head against the cold glass window and shut her eyes.

All too soon, the driver called her stop and hesitantly, she followed a few other passengers off the bus.

He was sitting on the bench, chin resting on steepled fingers, eyes staring straight ahead. He hadn't seen her.

"Hey," she called out and a little flutter of wings erupted in her stomach as he turned to her and smiled. It was devastatingly beautiful.

"God, I missed you." He rose from his perch and pulled her into him, head falling against the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent.

Before she could respond, he'd taken her hand and was leading her towards the school. Here and there, a few students stared, clearly stunned to see the odd couple. But for the most part, the two were left alone.

---

Leaning against a wall, he waited patiently as she pulled out books from her meticulously kept locker, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

"What's so funny?" she inquired, turning away from her books and locking eyes with him.

"You," he grinned, edging closer to where she stood, pointed look in her eyes.

"It's a gift," she put in before once again turning to her locker. He laughed before spinning her back to him and taking her chin in his hand. Then, descending his mouth to hers, he took her lower lip with his and embraced her in a soft kiss. Rising to her toes, and letting her hands wander to his back, she moved into the kiss, parting her lips and allowing the chills to wash over her. But upon recalling where they were, a Chilton hallway, she immediately pulled back.

Arm still wrapped around her waist, a finger gliding across her cheek, he smiled down at her, clearly amused by her bashfulness.

---

Making her way from class to class that morning, she couldn't help but notice the stares or the grins sent her way. She couldn't help but feel paranoid at the sound of whispers that sprang up around her or the hisses that seemed directed at her.

She knew she should have expected it; should have seen it coming. With Tristan's reputation, it was to be expected. But still…it wasn't something one could get used to. Not even a Gilmore.

Finally, needing an escape from the cold stares sent her way, along with the hushed tones that seemed to follow her around as she walked through the throngs of students, Rory settled on spending lunch in the library.

She wasn't trying to hide. It wasn't like a Gilmore to hide. She simply needed a break from the drama.

Pushing past the heavy oak doors, she stepped in to the library and embraced the calm that suddenly fell around her. The cold looks, the nonchalant laughter, and the voices all faded away, giving way to the silence that she was seeking.

Sighing to her self, she made for the spot that had now become her favorite place in the library.

Drawing her self up on to the windowsill, she pulled out her book and flipping it open, dove head first into the world of Anna Karenina, and was immediately lost in the words.

---

Half-heartedly, he laughed along to one of Duncan's stories, while keeping his eyes glued on the doors that opened up into the cafeteria. He willed for her to walk through them. He needed for her to walk through them. He'd seen the stares sent her way and heard the rumors that had started. But already halfway into their lunch hour, she was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, he rose from the table and stalked off.

---

A slight breeze crept in through the edge of the window and whipped at her hair. Distracted, she moved to tuck the strands behind her hair and through the window, noticed a familiar figure walking off towards the school parking lot.

---

"Going somewhere," she inquired, coming up behind him and lacing her fingers through his. The gesture felt natural.

He pulled her into his body and wrapped both arms around her.

"Are you okay," he asked, taking her face in his hands and she knew he was referring to the gossip mills that were running wild.

"You know I don't care what they say," she beamed up at him and found his lips on hers, soft and fiery at the same time.

After a blissful minute, the two parted and eyes still shut, she smiled up at him.

"You want to go somewhere with me?" he questioned and she opened her eyes to meet his gaze.

Having never skipped class before, she wanted to say no. But the cloud that moved across his eyes at her hesitation quickly had her reassessing her decision.

"Sure," she answered, and watched as that beautiful smile lit up his features.

---

**Hey everyone, as promised, I tried to put up this chapter within a week.**

**I know our dear Tristan is a little Jekyll and Hyde at the moment, but as the story progresses, you'll better understand where he's coming from. Chapter Four may have also helped clear some of the confusion regarding his fluctuating moods. Anywho, I'm thinking of posting up another Trory fic (i'm a few chapters into it) basically involving Tristan as a demon hunter...I know know, farfetched. But I've been messing around with the idea for a while and it all sort of fits.**

**And as always, I LOVE LOVE LOVE your reviews.**


	6. Chapter Five

_**- Chapter Five -**_

His left hand gripped the wheel while his right remained laced around hers, thumb absentmindedly running across her wrist.

Straining against her seatbelt, leaning against the window, she watched him, took in his every move. He still bit his lower lip on occasion, and he still hummed particular songs under his breath. At the moment, he was humming along to an old 80's song.

"We're here," he said, bringing the car to a halt, and pulling her out of her thoughts.

She'd been so caught up in him that only now did she realize where he'd brought her.

"Stars Hollow?" she questioned, sliding out of the car.

"You don't mind do you?" he was at her side in seconds, hands moving around her waist.

"No, Tristan," she beamed up at him. "It's great."

"I can't remember the last time I was here for more than just ten minutes." Fingers laced, he was already leading her down the road, every now and then stopping at a familiar landmark.

"Anywhere particular you'd like to go?" she asked as he paused outside Dosie's Market, examining the newly renovated windows.

"What? No, you can pick. I'm just glad to be back here again."

She laughed and pulled him along in the direction of the park. Fascinated by every little change the town had undergone, excitement radiating from him, he could have been the same kid she had raced around the town with years ago.

---

"Stop staring at me," she threw out and smiled as he looked away grinning. They were sitting on a stone bridge that stood over one of the small ponds in the park, feet hanging off the edge.

"Sorry. It's just…this is going to sound really sappy and you can stop me any time you like but…I don't know Rore, I just can't believe that you let me back into your life so easily."

He turned to her when she didn't reply, as if wondering whether she had changed her mind.

"I guess I just have really low standards." Her tone was severe but a grin decorated her features as she turned to him. "Maybe once I'm done with you, I'll go after Kirk or something. His mom would be thrilled to get him out of the house."

His abrupt laugher was like honey to her ears, a long forgotten sound that tugged at her heart.

She watched him as he ran a hand through his hair and let his eyelids fall.

"I don't deserve you," he spoke up after a few minutes, turning to face her. "I feel like any minute now, you're going to realize that and walk off." His eyes were dark now, a cloud once again hovering over them. "I would understand you know, if you wanted to walk away—"

She silenced him by pulling him into her, right hand carefully sliding out to meet his left hand where it gripped the top of the bridge.

They broke apart after a few moments and he twisted to the side and slid off the bridge, only to come behind her and encircle her with his arms, chin dipping down to rest on her shoulder.

"What are you thinking right now?" she questioned, leaning back to rest against him.

When he didn't answer, she turned her head to face him. "Tristan?"

"I was thinking about the day you fell through the ice here," after a moment, he responded, tightening the hold around her. "It was right after that really big storm back in third grade when the town declared a snow day. We spent the whole morning running around town, and ended up here in the evening."

That had not been the response she'd been expecting.

He continued, a slight edge to his words.

"The pond was frozen over, or at least it seemed so and you wanted to have a race across it, from one bank to the other. But of course I was too scared to and told you it was a stupid idea," he broke off with a bitter laugh.

She sighed, as a memory she'd long forgotten, flashed across her eyes.

"You just called me a chicken and marched right over to the edge." As if lost in a trance, Tristan continued.

"I didn't really think you'd go through with it but then you braced yourself and stepped onto the ice. You started edging across the surface while I watched from the side of the pond. But when you got to the middle, the ice cracked and you fell through. I ran to help but you were under for so long Rore…and I couldn't do anything."

"Tristan," she tried to intervene, but he continued with the memory, too caught up to stop now.

"I kept hearing little cracking noises beneath me but all I could think about was you. And when you finally broke through the water…"

"You pulled me out," she finished for him, sliding off the bridge and moving to face him.

But his eyes were fixed on the water, at the spot where it had all taken place.

"You were under for so long Rore, and I didn't know what to do."

"But you saved me Tristan," with both hands, she turned his face down to her own and made him look at her.

His arms, on each side of her, held her between his body and the bridge walls, fingers clenched around the railing.

"That was the first time that I knew I loved you. When I pulled you out and realized what could have happened, that's when I knew."

For a second, at the intensity of his words and his sentiments, she couldn't breathe. As if sensing her hesitation, he pulled her closer.

"I'm sorry if I'm scaring you Rore. I know I must sound like a crazy person…"

"It's okay, Tristan," she cut in, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head against his chest. "It's okay."

---

As she moved about the kitchen, taking mugs out of cupboards and pulling utensils out of drawers, she could sense his eyes on her, moving as she moved.

She poured two mugs of coffee, spooned sugar into each mug and took them back to the table where he was sitting, eyes studying her. She set the mugs down and took a seat on the chair next to his.

"Your house hasn't changed much," he observed, pulling her chair closer to his, so that their legs touched.

Inhaling deeply, Rory took a swig from her mug before nodding in response.

"Mom's not much of a decorator."

"No, I like it." He rose from his chair and moved to take in a line of photographs that Lorelai had set up along a book shelf.

From above the brim of her mug, she watched him as he examined each picture, brows knitted in an expression of abject concentration.

"I remember this one," he called, fiddling with a picture, "it's from Kirk's Bar mitzvah."

Rory almost snorted into her coffee, which earned a dazzling smile from him.

Picture in hand, he returned to take a seat beside her, the expression she loved, one of joy and contentment, decorating his features.

"Yeah, but I think he's converted back to Catholicism…or is he a Buddhist now?"

Tristan beamed at her, before putting down the picture and pulling her in for a kiss.

This kiss was different from the last time he'd been at the house, gentler yet somehow more passionate. In the way her body reacted, every nerve on fire, she realized that she had been waiting for him to kiss her again, craving.

Soft and perfectly shaped, his lips moved in synch alongside hers, stopping now and then to tug at her lower lip. His right hand slid down her spine, pressing her closer to him, while his left wound its way into her hair.

She settled her arms around his shoulders, fingers grazing the spot where his hair line met his nape, pulling a guttural sound from him. Deeping the kiss, he pulled her into his lap, and she locked her arms around his neck, desperate not to break the connection.

She let her hands wonder back to his chest, feeling the solidity of his muscles, and up to the collar of his shirt, tugging his body against her own.

Several minutes later, slowly, he loosened his grip, and pulled back, but kept her on his lap.

Arms still locked around his neck, Rory looked into his eyes. They were a vivid blue and bright with excitement.

"Mommy's home kid," Lorelai's voice floated from the living room, and Rory was quick to untangle herself from Tristan and move to stand by the sink. "And I managed to steal one of Sookie's cakes while Michelle's back was turned…" she trailed off, entering the kitchen and catching sight of Tristan. She was holding several grocery bags in one hand and a cake box in the other.

"Lorelai," Tristan rose to his feet, a hesitant smile curling his lips.

"Tristan," Lorelai greeted him, but her eyes were on Rory. The smile she had been wearing had slipped off and her tone had changed from casual and playful to guarded and weary.

"Hi mom," Rory greeted, with more enthusiasm than needed, "Tristan just came by to…"

"To visit Stars Hollow," he cut in, moving to take the load from her hands and place it on the counter.

"Hmm," Lorelai nodded, guarded look still in place.

"It seems like a lot's changed," he tried feebly to make small-talk, lift the uncomfortable veil that had fallen over the room.

Again, Lorelai nodded, crossing her arms.

"He hadn't seen the town in almost four years," Rory piped in, helping Tristan unload groceries and place them here and there in various cupboards. They ate at home so infrequently that there was no order to where various boxes and cans were placed.

"Four years," Lorelai repeated, moving to pour herself a mug of coffee and take a seat at the kitchen table.

Rory sent Tristan a glance before going to take a seat beside her mother, pulling her chair closer so that they sat side by side.

"Mom…"

But Lorelai cut her off. "Four years, Rory, four years."

"I know…"

"Do you remember what that first year was like, Rory?"

"Mom…"

"You came home crying every day, every day, and there was nothing I could do. All because of him, Rory." Her voice was steady, but Rory caught the anger and frustration in her tone.

"Mom," Rory tried to explain, but Lorelai persisted.

"For an entire year, you were a completely different person Rore, wafting around like a ghost. I could barely get you to talk to me and when you finally did, it was to cry about losing your best friend. I'm not going to let that happen again."

"Lorelai, I can explain…" Tristan began, but he too was cut off.

"Really? You have an explanation for a four-year absence?"

Not wanting him to have to dredge up his past again, Rory intervened. "Tristan, you don't have to. I'll explain it to her." She sent him a quick, reassuring smile, before turning back to face her mother.

Eyes wide, hurt contorting her brows, Lorelai looked back, stunned.

"I think you should leave, Tristan," quickly composing herself, Lorelai addressed him. "I need to speak to my daughter." Her eyes, now blazing, were still focused on Rory.

For a fraction of a second, he hesitated but decided the best thing to do was to give the two some space, but not before, defiantly, moving to where Rory sat and placing a kiss on her temple.

Then squeezing her shoulder, with a quick, tight-lipped smile, he walked out.

Rory watched his retreating back, reluctantly returning her gaze to her mother's face. She'd been expecting anger or disappointment but all she saw in her mother's eyes was sadness. Lorelai looked exhausted, and hurt beyond measure.

"Mom, I can explain," Rory began, taking her mother's right hand between her own hands.

Lorelai, the woman who had an answer to everything and a witty retort for every comment, said nothing.

"He's been through a lot mom…a lot more than I thought any person was capable of enduring."

"I'm not trying to make excuses for what he did or pretend that he didn't hurt me. But I want you to trust that I know what I'm doing." Sighing, she sat back in her chair, waiting for her mother to respond, watching as she took sips of coffee from her mug.

Several minutes later, Lorelai finally spoke up

"I can't pick your friends for you Rory, and I know you're smart enough to choose good people to surround yourself with. But you can't expect me to just let four years slide like that…especially without an explanation."

Rory nodded, drawing closer to her mother. "I know."

Lorelai took another sip of coffee, stony eyed and shoulders slumped from exhaustion.

"He's been through a lot mom, and some of it changed him, for the worse. But he's trying to make up for it now…trying to be the person he used to be. He's not there yet, but I think it's possible…"

"I trust you Rory," Lorelai broke through, "but it's going to take more than a few minutes for me to get used to the idea, okay?" The edge had vanished from her tone, Rory noted with a pang of relief.

Softly smiling, she rested her head against her mother's shoulder, content.

"He still looks the same," said Lorelai, and Rory caught a hint of her mother returning to normal, her casual tone slowly resettling.

"You mean as gorgeous as ever?" Rory smiled.

"Miss Patty's going to have a heart attack," Lorelai responded before the two settled into a more comfortable silence.

A few minutes later, driven by curiosity and with the new sanction to discuss a topic that had been a taboo in their house for so long, Rory spoke up again. "I always thought you liked Tristan, even after he changed. You've never complained about him or said a single negative thing about him. Even in that first year when I would come home crying, you'd console me without debasing him." Twisting her head up expectantly, Rory waited for her mother to respond.

"I do like Tristan," Lorelai sighed, "to me, he's always been the kid that rescued you and carried you home after you fell through the ice. I could never understand how he could change so drastically but at the same time, I never stopped seeing him as the boy whose world revolved around you."

Lorelai's mug sat resting on the table and Rory, her own cup of coffee empty, pulled it towards herself, emptying it in a single drag.

"Wait," she said, plopping down the now empty mug, "did you mention cake?"

The veil had lifted.

------------------------------------------

I know it's been lightyears since my last update but I promise (cross my heart and hope to die) that the next chapter will be up within a week. I'll also hopefully have the next chapter of 'Self Destruction' up within the week. I hate unfinished stories so I'm going to try my best to update frequently. And again, for those of you who will or are still reading this, thank you times a million.


	7. Chapter Six

_**- Chapter Six -**_

He drove around aimlessly for about two hours, foregoing the bottle in his coat for the memory of her face. Every time he felt that click in his head, began craving the bottle, he pulled back the memory of her disappointed eyes into focus.

Finally, on the verge of passing out at the wheel from exhaustion, he decided to drive home. Not needing to be fussed over by maids, he let himself in through a side door, threw his jacket on a chair, and slipped, like a wraith, into his room.

"Took you long enough," a voice called in the dark.

Without needing to turn on the lights or even turn around, he knew who it was. Her perfume assaulted his senses.

"Get the hell out of my room," he growled, not in the mood to deal with his stepmother. He moved towards the bathroom, shrugging off his blazer and fidgeting with his tie.

A muffled thump echoed about the room as the bottle in his pocket made contact with the carpeted floors.

Reaching from his bed, she caught him before he'd moved more than a few feet, and pulled him closer to her. Then, rising to her knees, almost maternally, she undid the knot in his tie and slid it off him.

"Stop," he ordered, a dull thudding building at his temple.

She ignored him, fingers delicately moving down his chest, undoing the buttons on his shirt. He tried to swat her hands away, almost halfheartedly. Despite himself, his body was reacting to her, little flares of electricity surging through his nerves.

Reaching the final button, she peeled the shirt off his body and let it flutter to the floor.

"Veronica, stop," he pulled away, as her hand began an ascent along his abdomen, stomach, chest.

"What's the matter?" she purred, ignoring his words and pulling him back to her. Again, the long, delicate fingers began tracing patterns across his skin, burning into his body.

Instead of disgust, they churned a sense of familiarity and desire in him, and he found himself pulling her closer, ignoring the thudding at his temple which had quickly morphed into the fire of a migraine.

Her lips replaced her fingers, meeting and parting as they worked along his chest and neck, and more spasms of electricity flew through his body. His response was instinctive.

One hand wound its way around her waist while the other anchored his body to the bed, supporting their bodies as he guided her onto the mattress.

She locked her arms around his neck while he caught her mouth with his, hands moving to roam beneath the filmy nightdress she wore. She moaned into the kiss, calling his name.

Except it wasn't her voice calling his name.

It was softer and much sweeter, with genuine concern and warmth attached to every syllable.

His body went rigid, a pair of blue eyes scorched into his brain. Veronica, carried on, unaware of the turn his thoughts had taken, pulling at his now immobile lips, fingers grazing his nape.

Slowly, he peeled away from her and rose out of bed.

The pain that had been pushed to the back of his mind just seconds ago, reared back with a vengeance.

He groped for his shirt and blazer in the dark and walked out of the room on unsteady feet, ignoring Veronica as she called out his name. Thoughts of Rory preoccupied his mind.

---

He was waiting for at her locker the next morning, sitting with one leg sprawled out in front of him and the other bent at the knee. With his back against the locker next to hers', tousled hair standing out in all directions, eyes shut and long lashes fanned against his skin, he looked like some mythic hero in repose.

At her approach, the sound of her clicking heels echoing around a nearly empty hallway, his eyelids fluttered open.

"Rory," he smiled, and rose to his feet.

She went to return his smile but stopped as her gaze locked on his eyes. They were red and glassy, completely at odds with his distressingly beautiful smile. He pulled her rigid body into him and squeezed her tight, burying his face in her hair.

His cheek against her neck felt too warm and his grip too tight. Stiff beneath his blazer, his shoulders seemed knotted in tension.

She wondered whether he was drunk.

A few moments later, he pulled back, but kept his hands loosely around her waist.

"Are you okay?" she ventured, looking up into his eyes.

He chuckled. "Don't you mean, 'am I drunk'?"

"Tristan…I…"

"Relax," he smiled down at her "I'm not drunk. I've just been driving around all night."

"What?"

He moved back to lean against the wall of lockers, his hands moving from her waist to her hands.

"I just needed to clear my head and just…deal with some things."

She let out a breath that she had not realized she'd been holding and edged closer to him, taking in the crumpled shirt beneath his blazer, with only half the buttons done up. She realized that it was the first time she'd ever seen Tristan looking even slightly disheveled. Brought up in the DuGrey house, she knew that he'd been raised to keep up appearances, regardless of the turmoil within.

Almost without thinking, she reached out and began fastening the remaining buttons, pausing to linger at his collar. He caught her hands there and brought them up to his lips, before pulling her in for a kiss.

The tension she'd felt in his shoulders seemed to melt away from him as their lips moved alongside one another's, shaping and reshaping perfectly. He let his hands linger up her spine and into her hair while hers locked around his neck.

He clung to her and moved deeper into the kiss, parting her lips with his own and venturing in, crushing her body into his.

Smiling into the kiss, she pulled back, and he continued in his reverie, working down the length of her jaw line and along her neck, moving aside her collar to suck at a spot on her collar bone.

Laughing, she pushed him off.

"I don't mind an audience," he grinned, catching that her gaze had fallen on the steady stream of students making their way through the halls of Chilton.

She laughed again and placed a chaste kiss on his lips before untangling herself and moving to open her locker.

He lounged back against the wall, pocketed his fists and stared up at the ceiling.

She pulled out several textbooks from her locker and threw them into her bag, unable to keep the grin from vanishing from her face.

"Do you have any plans this evening?" he questioned, eyes still focused on the ceiling.

"No," she replied turning to face him.

Brows knitted, eyes fixed on the ceiling, he seemed lost in concentration.

"Good. I want to take you out tonight."

Noting the puzzlement that contorted her features, he kissed her briefly before taking her hand and walking her to her first class of the day. He embraced her again at the doorway of the classroom, a soft kiss on her temple, before disappearing into the crowds of people, all heading for one class or another.

Rory didn't see him at lunch or in the hallways for the rest of the day, but she didn't let it worry her. She was beginning to understand how erratic he could be.

He was there however in her last class of the day. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, hunched over in his seat, biting his nails and gazing restlessly out the window.

He seemed perfectly composed when he caught her elbow on her way out of the class, exhaustion still hovering over his eyes but a smile tugging at his lips.

"I'll give you a ride home," he insisted as he walked her to her locker.

"Um…you're going on how many hours without sleep?" Rory questioned as she opened her locker and shoved several things into it.

He paused for a moment and contemplated. "About 32."

"Then maybe it's better if I drive."

"Rory," he smiled, running a hand across his eyes, "I've gone for days without sleep, okay. It's not a big deal."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. "That's supposed to make me feel better how?"

His deep, guttural chuckle almost melted her resolve.

"I'm fine, honestly," he responded, a note of finality in his tone, before extending a hand out to her. Sighing, she accepted his hand.

As if aware of her tension, he drove just above the speed limit, the best you could hope from him, and she could see that it grieved him to not be flying down the road at a hundred miles per hour.

He dropped her off in front of her house and told her that he'd be back in a couple of hours to pick her up. He wouldn't give her any details as to where they were going so after a quick shower, she settled on a deep red, long-sleeved shirt that sat beautifully against her porcelain skin, a black skirt that fell just above her knees, and a pair of black boots she took from her mother's closet. She wore her curls loose around her head.

A knock at the door sent butterflies fluttering about her stomach. Despite Tristan being her oldest friend, she realized she was nervous. This was after all, their first official date.

He stood in her doorway fiddling with his keys, trademark grin still in place, and looking as amazing as always. If his Chilton uniform did wonders for him, it was nothing compared to what a jet black sweater over a deep blue button down could do.

Apparently she was doing the same for him because he scanned her from head to toe and pulled her in for an embrace.

"Did I ever tell you that red is my favorite color?" he breathed into her hair, enveloping her in his arms.

She drowned in his scent; a combination of soap and cologne and something else she couldn't put her finger on. Pheromones, perhaps?

---

"So Lorelai is still on the fence about me?" Tristan questioned, bringing the car to a halt in front of a small building of three or four stories. During their drive, she'd plied him with questions about their destination but all he'd revealed was that it was his favorite restaurant in Hartford.

Sighing deeply and removing her seatbelt, Rory nodded. An autumn sun, hidden behind a block of small grey buildings and here and there a grove of tall trees, cast an orange glow over everything. Through her window, she read the name of the restaurant; Catania.

Without a word, Tristan slid out of the vehicle and came around to hold the door open for her.

"Just give her some time to come around to it," she tried to comfort him. "You know she can't harbor a grudge for too long."

He laced his fingers through hers and led her up a small flight of stairs and into the restaurant. Instantly, Rory understood why Tristan favored this place.

It was of a moderate size, straddling the line between relaxed and refined. The circular tables were small, wooden and decorative, with mismatched antique chairs surrounding them. Red table lamps provided the only sources of light in the building. To say the place was atmospheric would have been an understatement.

Tristan shook hands with a tall, severe looking man at the welcoming podium, and Rory was sure that in the same swift movement, he also handed the man a tip. But instead of moving towards a table or one of the booths that ran along the side of the restaurant, Tristan led her up a winding flight of stairs and into a small hallway. After another small flight of stairs, she moved through a door he held open for her and emerged on the roof of the building.

Here and there, several tables, set in the same style as below, dotted the length of the roof but they were all vacant. However, unlike the set up below, most of the tables were decorated with candlesticks in addition to the small, red lamps.

The sun had set and Rory broke away from him to survey the landscape over the small railing that ran the perimeter of the roof. Though they were only a few stories above ground, the world and reality felt light years away. He came up beside her and leaned on his arms against the railing.

"I met the owner of this place a few years back…she and I share the same therapist."

Rory turned on the spot to face him.

"You want to talk about…about those first few years, I mean."

He inched closer to her so that their bodies were now touching. "Not tonight."

The patter of feet caught their attention and both Tristan and Rory turned in the direction of the stairwell.

A waiter, balancing a basket of breadstick along with two menus entered through the open door and moved towards a table at the centre of the roof deck.

As the man began setting up, Tristan took Rory's hand and guided her to the table.

"Can I start the two of you off with drinks?" the waiter inquired after they were seated.

Tristan looked at Rory.

"A glass of water please."

"I'll have the same," he added before, with a nod, the waiter disappeared back into the stairwell.

"I like this place," Rory spoke up, as a subtle breeze picked up. "It's like something you'd find in Stars Hollow."

He lounged back in his chair. "I guess that's one of the reasons why I kept coming back here. It reminded me a little of the town."

"Why didn't you ever come back for a visit? I mean, that time at the bookstore was the first time I'd seen you there in years." Unaware of her actions, she leaned towards him, hands bent at the elbows on the table, fingers moving to drape over his hands.

"I did…a few times," he sighed, meeting her gaze.

"You did?"

"A few years ago, I almost made it to your front door but turned around at the last second."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me." His brow furrowed as if uttering the words caused him grief and Rory stroked his hands, clenched into fists on the table, with her thumbs.

They broke apart stiffly as the waiter returned with their drinks.

"Are you ready to order?" he inquired, placing a glass each in front of Rory and Tristan. Water, sloshing back and forth within the confines of a crystal decanter, was placed at the center of the table.

"Um…" Rory deadpanned. She hadn't even glanced at the menu.

After a quick scan, she ordered the seafood linguini while he settled on a rib-eye steak with portobello mushrooms.

The waiter collected the menus and descended once again down the spiraling set of stairs.

"When was the last time you had something to eat?" Tristan questioned, sliding the basket of breadsticks towards her.

"Oh, a few hours ago…mom," Rory retaliated, curling a hand around a breadstick and brining it to her mouth. "But I appreciate the concern."

He grinned, helping himself to a breadstick as well and pulling his chair closer to her.

"Tell me more about your life," he asked.

For a few seconds, she simply gazed back at him, watching in fascination as he munched on his food. He had a beautiful mouth, generous and just the right shape. She continued gazing as he swallowed a mouthful of bread and his jaw and Adam's apple took more focus.

"Rory," he called to get her attention, fingers moving to graze the side of her face.

"What?" she said, leaning into his touch.

"I was asking about your life. I feel like all I've been talking about is myself."

She smiled.

"Not much to tell really."

"Are you still set on Harvard?"

"Yeah…but lately, I've been considering Yale as well. How about you? Have you given any thought to where you're going to college?"

She knew she'd stumbled onto hostile territory because a shadow passed over his eyes and he pulled back his hand from where it had been busy playing with a curl of her hair.

"My dad went to Princeton."

When he didn't elaborate, she ventured on, feeling her way over the ice. Realizing that all he'd talked about was his past, she wanted to get him talking about his future, his hopes and his dreams. "Princeton is a beautiful school. My mom and I went on a tour of the campus a few months ago."

His eyes narrowed to a blistering glare. "I wouldn't know."

She ducked her head and took a sip of water before continuing. "I think my grandparents are set on me going to Yale, though. I mean that was where my mother was supposed to go."

"That shouldn't matter," he spoke up and Rory caught the intensity in his tone. "Harvard's been your dream so it shouldn't matter what anyone else thinks."

"It used to be your dream too," she pushed, recalling a trip she, her mother, Tristan, and an angry Luke had taken to Harvard on her tenth birthday. Lorelai had irritated Luke into driving the bunch up to the campus, having lost her car that weekend to an angry meter maid and the impound lot.

She looked up expectantly and saw that his gaze had moved to settle over the outline of the dark shapes beyond the railing.

"Remember the trip we took on my tenth birthday?"

He nodded stiffly, but refrained from looking at her.

The waiter returned with their food, balancing two steaming plates and cutlery on a long silver platter.

"Seafood linguini for the lady and rib-eye steak for the gentleman," he beamed at them.

Rory returned the smile but Tristan merely handed the man a tip before taking a sip of water. With a firm nod, the waiter disappeared.

Flustered, Rory unwrapped her cutlery before taking a bite of linguini, and then a sip of water. She couldn't understand why his mood had changed so suddenly. From beneath her lashes, she watched as he cut up his steak into small pieces with grace most likely acquired over the course of hundreds of formal dinners.

Involved yet not entirely entangled with the kind of life Tristan lead, mostly due to the influence of her grandparents, Rory wondered what life was like for him at home.

She dug into her own food, skewering a piece of pasta and scallop.

After a few bites, she realized that he'd stopped eating, head turned towards the horizon beyond the railing again. Brows contorted, jaw set in a rigid line, and hands clenched into fists on either side of his plate, he looked pained, as if he was internally grappling with something heavy.

She put down her knife and fork and reached out to take his hand.

As if singed, he cringed away from her touch, eyes darting back to her face.

Confused, she retracted her hands but held his gaze.

"I'm sorry Rore," he said, eyes lightening and features relaxing, like a sleeper resurfacing from a bad dream.

She returned the smile hesitantly. "You looked like you were a million miles away."

He nodded, but said nothing. Instead, he skewered a piece of steak with his fork and brought it to his mouth.

Rory ventured on. "What were you thinking about?"

As if he hadn't heard her question, he continued eating, attention focused squarely on his meal.

"Did it have anything to do with my question about college…"

"You've barely touched your food, Rore," he interrupted, the same beautiful smile moving to curve his lips. "Do you want to order something else?"

"No Tristan, I'm fine," she said, trying to keep her voice composed, despite the irritation working along her spine.

When he continued to gaze at her, head cocked at an angle, she took another bite of pasta. It tasted bitter in her mouth but she forced it down with a chug from her glass. He seemed pleased, or pacified at the least, because he also resumed eating.

They ate in silence, but unlike earlier, when the silence had sat comfortably around them like a warm blanket, it felt suffocating now. Rory felt it weighing down upon her from all sides.

She put down her knife and fork and tried hard not to sound like a sulking child.

"I'm trying here Tristan, but you're not making this easy."

He looked at her in puzzlement.

"I need you to talk to me," she pleaded.

"I do Rore, I've told you everything…"

"Not about the past. I want to talk about right now, the present…and the future too."

"There is no point in discussing something you have no control over." His voice was low and dangerous.

"What do you mean?" Her question came out as a whisper.

"Nothing. It's not important." He drained his glass of water and poured himself another glass before refilling Rory's glass as well.

"Don't do that," Rory said, watching as he brought the glass to his lips.

"Do what?"

"Shut me out. Not again."

"This has nothing to do with you Rory," he set down his glass and reached across the table to take her hands in his. "It's something I need to figure out on my own."

"Tristan…" Rory pressed, but he just shook his head.

"Just let it go for now, please."

At the tenderness in his voice, Rory bit back her questions and concerns, simply letting him play with her hands, thumbs rubbing warm circles into her wrists.

"Do you want to leave?" he questioned several moments later, neither one having moved to finish their meals.

Rory nodded.

They walked back down the stairs in silence and Tristan shared a quick exchange with the maître d' before he and Rory exited the restaurant. The sound of their footsteps echoed across the pavement.

Tristan held open the passenger side door, head down as she got in. A few seconds later, he was around the car and in the vehicle. He revved the engine to life and pulled into the road.


End file.
